


Pounds, Shillings, Pence (and Love)

by shaggydogstail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaggydogstail/pseuds/shaggydogstail
Summary: Remus thinks that nothing could be worse than the humiliation of admitting he needs Sirius' help. He's wrong.





	Pounds, Shillings, Pence (and Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta reader, wildestranger.
> 
> Warnings for prostitution, infidelity (in the form of prostitution), consent issues, and physical violence. Some mild d/s themes.

Remus licks and sucks, teasing with lips and tongue in a practised routine that doesn’t really mean a thing, but gets the desired results anyway. The thin, synthetic carpet offers no comfort to his knees, stiff and red from too long kneeling, and the air is thick with the cloying sweet smell of air-freshener, overheated and under-aired.

Remus remembers to moan when the other man speaks, giving every impression that there’s nothing he likes better than to be told what a filthy little whore he is, what a pretty mouth he’s got and to take it, that’s it, take it all. He hums at all the right moments, sticks his tongue in all the right places, and then swallows dutifully at the end.

Afterwards, he accepts the crumpled wad of Muggle pound notes and the fifty pence tip, and gargles with mint-flavoured mouth wash while he waits for the next one to arrive, all the while counting down the hours until he can go home and scrub himself raw.

~*~

He’s back on his knees again, on lino this time, staring at the crack beneath the words ‘Armitage Shanks’ with two fingers down his throat. It takes a while, eyes streaming and fingers coated with saliva before he reaches – _there_ – and throws it all up. He remembers vaguely that Sirius told him once that the orange stuff in vomit wasn’t carrots, but bits of stomach lining. So there it is: stomach lining, half a bag of chips, a can of cider, and assorted spunk, all down the pan and flushed away to the sewers.

Remus scrubs his teeth until his gums bleed, then turns on the shower as hot as he can stand it. Bile rises in his throat as he scrubs every inch of his body; his throat hurts, with that special just-thrown-up burn, and he thinks that what he really wants is just to sit down and have a cup of tea, listen to the wireless for a bit, and then sleep.

And then it hits him: he can do just that, because he’s bought milk, and sugar, and tea, and biscuits too, and a new mug that doesn’t have a chip in it. The room will be warm, like the water, because he’s put money in the meter, and he can go and buy fresh linen tomorrow when somewhere other than the corner shop is open. That’s why he’s doing it, after all, for the money. To keep the wolf from the door, he thinks, and his mouth twists into an ironic half-smile.

He has food, and heat, and that’s enough for now. It’s not like he’s going to keep doing this forever.

~*~

It’s not like he ever thought he’d do it at all, come to that, nor that any of it was exactly planned. It hadn’t come up in those awkward, embarrassing careers interviews he’d had with McGonagall, neither being impolite enough to mention that no-one gave two shakes of a hippogriff’s tail how many N.E.W.T.s he got, no employer would want him anyway. Tutor, researcher, Ministry Liaison, whore.

Still, he supposed that no-one exactly started out with the intention of becoming a rent-boy. Perhaps most of them fell into it by accident, like Remus.

It had only been five days since Sirius and James had disappeared on an errand for Dumbledore, following sightings of suspected Death Eaters in a part of France where, as luck would have it, James had distant relatives and, therefore, at least a semi-plausible excuse for his presence. Much as Remus liked to pretend he didn’t rely on his friends’ charity, it frightened him how quickly the coins he kept in a jam jar by his bed ran out without their steady supply of ‘I’m-sure-it’s-my-round’, ‘do you want half?’ and ‘C’mon, Moony, stay for lunch’s. 

Five days of eeking out the sparse contents of his cupboards, considering and rejecting the option of just Apparating into Sirius’ flat and helping himself to the bread, milk and apples that wouldn’t last anyway, or even going around to see Peter or Lily in the hope of being asked to stay to dinner. It doesn’t take long for hunger to get to a person.

Still, he hadn’t _planned_ it. He’d been loitering at one of those pubs in town that does a steady trade in lunches for hurried office workers, picking up left-over chips, bits of salad, and garlic-bread crusts from abandoned plates ( _not_ stealing), when an over-eager barman realised that Remus hadn’t ordered so much as a glass of lemonade, and scruffy layabouts like that lowered the tone, so why don’t you just sling your hook?

He’d only stopped on the pavement outside long enough to consider the nearest quiet spot to Disapparate, flee from the abject humiliation of not only being reduced to scrounging scraps off plates, but being caught at it as well (whatever next, grubbing through dustbins?), when a hand caught him on the shoulder and changed everything.

The man said his name was Tony, which was probably a lie, and that he might have work for Remus, which wasn’t. Remus wasn’t stupid enough not to realise that whatever work he was offering had to be dodgy; he wasn’t stupid enough not to realise that it might be is best – only- option anyway. So he shrugged and accepted the offer of a late lunch and a chat because, really, what did he have to lose?

Two hours, a pie and a pint, and a lie about his virginity later, Remus was on his knees. If he couldn’t sing for his supper, he could pay for it.

~*~

The water’s still warm after nearly twenty minutes in the shower, an unprecedented feat. Remus’ skin is red and blotchy, but very, very clean, and his fingers are starting to go wrinkly. No amount of soap and water will wash away the feeling of faint disgust that comes from realising that he’s lost count already of how many strangers’ cocks he’s sucked for money, but the ache in his muscles has subsided and the prospect of fresh tea and maybe a sandwich is oddly seductive. Mmm, time to get out and dried.

Maybe he’s lulled himself into a false sense of security or maybe he’s just too exhausted to care, but something’s dulled his senses enough that he doesn’t hear the _crack!_ of Apparition or the creaking sound of the bathroom door opening. He’s usually alert, ever-ready ( _constant vigilance!_ ) , which somehow makes the sudden imposition of hands on his hips and someone else’s hair at the back of his neck even _more_ of a shock than it ought to be.

‘Argh!’ Remus lets out an ungainly yelp and jumps around, leaving the towel behind him.

‘Pleased to see me?’ Sirius smirks and doesn’t wait for an answer, swooping in and pinning Remus to the wall, then kissing him. Remus’ mind goes blank for a moment, stunned into stupidity, until he realises that this is Sirius, his boyfriend who he hasn’t seen for three weeks, and who is trying to snog him into next week and maybe, it would be an idea of Remus tried kissing him back?

He just gets his hand settled on the back of Sirius’ neck, his lips parted and his tongue snaking forward lazily to meet Sirius’, when Sirius pulls back.

‘You could at least _pretend_ to be pleased to see me,’ Sirius says, pouting slightly. ‘After all, it has been a month.’

‘Three weeks.’ Remus corrects him without thinking.

‘Seems like longer when I don’t get to do this,’ Sirius tells him, and presses his lips to Remus’ throat, kissing and sucking a line up to his ear, the barest scrape of teeth making Remus’ skin tingle in the way it always does; the way Sirius _knows_ it always does.

‘Not being able to molest me must have been a terrible trial for you,’ Remus says, his voice sounding a little unsteady.

‘Mm, it was rather,’ agrees Sirius. ‘All that time with only Prongs and his thorough heterosexuality for company, following a bunch of Death Eaters for hours on end. So bloody boring, Moony.’

‘We all have to make sacrifices.’

‘Did you miss me, then?’ Sirius’ hair has fallen in his eyes, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity in his expression, the warmth of his affection as he looks at Remus. Something inside Remus twists, and he feels slightly sick again, but it’s a good sort of feeling, like being on a rollercoaster or looking down from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

It hits him all at once just how much he missed Sirius, how absurdly pleased he is to see him again. 

‘’Course I am, you daft dog,’ he says, ‘even if you did scare the wits out of me sneaking up on me like that.’

‘Sorry.’ Sirius doesn’t sound particularly apologetic; his voice is low and sensual as he presses himself up against Remus and whispers in his ear. ‘Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?’

‘You could try taking some clothes off.’ Remus tugs at Sirius’ robes, grinning. ‘I’m feeling altogether too self-conscious about being the only naked person in the room.’

‘Don’t need to feel self-conscious about that,’ Sirius assures him, somehow managing to talk, unfasten his own clothing and kiss Remus’ shoulders all at once. ‘You know you wouldn’t be allowed clothes at all if I had my way. Although…’

Remus realises too late, but he never saw it coming.

‘Moony, what have you done to yourself?’

‘Er…’

‘You’re all red. Are you hurt?’

‘No!’ Remus tries to brush off Sirius’ concern. ‘No, not really. It’s just a…potions injury. I got some work helping some poor old dear clear out her house. Turns out I must be allergic to the doxy spray or something.’

‘Poor Moony. Do you want me to kiss it better?’

Remus grins at him, one eyebrow held aloft and the hint of a challenge colouring his expression. He tugs Sirius half-undone robe off his shoulder and pulls him out of the bathroom, towards the bed. 

‘Oh, I’m sure you can do better than that.’

Sirius never did wait to ask twice, so it’s only a matter of moments until he’s wriggled out of the rest of his clothing and is pushing Remus into the sagging, discoloured mattress, kissing him over and over. His touch is gentle, too gentle, like he’s holding something back as his fingers caress the reddened skin on Remus’ torso, fearful of hurting him.

‘Padfoot.’ Remus growls as he speaks, pulling Sirius up to face him. ‘I want to feel it…you. Fuck me.’

And Sirius does, with Remus kneeling up on the bed, bracing himself on the tarnished iron bedstead. Remus can’t see Sirius, but he can feel him everywhere; Sirius’ chest pressed up against his back, Sirius’ hands on his own arms, his hips, his nipples and his cock. Sirius’ breath is warm and damp on Remus’ neck, his hair fine and light on his shoulder, and his cock hot and hard in his arse.

It’s intense, overwhelming; Remus feels consumed, surrounded and invaded. Sirius’ touch and scent, the sound of his breathing, are everywhere. Sirius is so close, knows every part of him so well, that Remus fells that he might just meld into him and for a moment he’s ready to let it happen, throw back his head and let Sirius take him.

Afterwards, Sirius drops like a stone, a mumbled ‘love you, Moony,’ just barely escaping his lips before he’s out like a light. For all he’s exhausted, Remus can’t find sleep so easily, so he lies and watches Sirius, who twitches and snores just a little, dribbles in his sleep and takes up too much of the bed.

He tells his guilty conscience that it’s over now, so there’s not point dwelling on the past. Sirius wouldn’t understand, so there’s no point telling him things that would just upset him either. Least said, soonest mended, and all that vacuous, self-serving crap.

It isn’t easy, but he sleeps anyway.

~*~

Sirius wakes up ravenous, and drags Remus out to the greasy spoon at the end of the street for breakfast. Remus manages half a slice of bacon and a few mushrooms out of the Full English that Sirius ordered for him, and alternates been watching Sirius eat and poking his own congealing egg with a fork.

‘Not hungry, Moony?’

‘Not really.’ Remus wrinkles his nose and pushes his plate away. ‘You can finish it.’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ says Sirius, cheerfully helping himself to a sausage. ‘Need to keep my strength up – got work today.’

Sirius works – in the loosest sense of the word – at the Magical Menagerie on Diagon Alley. So far as Remus can make out, Sirius’ job as part-time shop assistant mostly consists of turning up once a week or whenever he feels like it, charming the proprietor, Francine Batt, into not firing him this time, and occasionally taking sick, stray, or just unpopular animals home. On the rare occasions he actually does manage to work a full shift, he mostly passes the time making small children cry by telling them brutal stories about Puffskeins That Went Bad.

‘You’re already late,’ says Remus, indicating the clock on the way. ‘It’s a wonder you still have a job at all, if you can’t even be bothered to turn up on time when you’ve been off for weeks.’

‘Ooh, that reminds me,’ says Sirius around a mouthful of sausage. ‘Talking of old ladies who love me and work, I was talking to Mrs Figg yesterday –’

‘– you went to see Mrs Figg before you saw me?’ Remus raises his eyebrow. ‘Should I be jealous?’

‘Damn, and I thought I’d been so discreet as well.’ Sirius laughs. ‘No, really, she was doing me a favour. Since _certain people_ insist on turning down my offers of co-habitation, I have to find someone to look after my pets for me –’

‘– I’d have looked after them for you.’

‘You’d have given them away to winsome children who’d pull their tails.’ Sirius tuts. ‘Anyway, stop interrupting me – I was talking to Mrs Figg and she told me that her niece’s husband runs this school, for teaching foreigners to speak English.’

‘Um, that’s nice?’ says Remus. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

‘He’s looking for new staff,’ Sirius tells him. ‘You should apply.’

Remus sighs. Sirius’ attempts to sort out his life for him have been wearing a bit thin lately. ‘I’m not sure,’ he says.

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ insists Sirius. ‘This bloke’s a Muggle, but his wife’s a witch, so he already knows about magic and whatnot, so you can tell him about your N.E.W.T. results without him thinking you’re a lunatic.’

‘Well, maybe.’

‘I thought you said you were interested in teaching?’ Sirius continues. ‘And Mrs Figg says her niece would prefer it if there were a wizard working with her husband – you know, just in case.’

Remus considers it: it really _does_ sound like a good idea, and if it weren’t for the fact that Sirius was trying to organise his life for him (which Remus finds hard to take from a man who can barely organise matching socks for himself of a morning) he’d have jumped at the chance. Still, he remembers what happened last time he found work for himself, and supposes he should be grateful to Sirius.

‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’ll think about it at least.’

‘Brilliant.’ Sirius beams. ‘Well, look lively, Moony. You’ve got an interview in an hour.’ 

~*~

Mr Tufty is a broad, avuncular man, who seems to be under instructions from his wife to give Remus the job so long as he appears even moderately sane, making it the easiest interview Remus ever attended (well, second easiest). Remus is told he’ll undertake two days of training the following week, then start work the week after that when the new term commences.

The English Language School isn’t exactly corrupt, but it isn’t exactly the finest educational establishment either. It doesn’t take Remus long to establish that they pay unqualified instructors a pittance to give lessons that are mediocre at best, for which unfortunate students from North Africa, Poland, and the Indian Subcontinent pay a small fortune.

The work in itself isn’t so bad, though, and despite his lack of qualifications or experience Remus finds he picks it up easily. The only real drawback is the location – Remus wonders what cruel twist of fate decided the only decent job he could find would be a couple of streets away from the brothel he’d worked in while Sirius was away.

Still, that’s all behind him now. He puts the memory behind him, and walks the long way home.

~*~

Good intentions only count for so much.

Remus does put the brothel behind him, for a while. He only teaches a few classes each week, spending the rest of the time doing odd jobs for the Order, helping Peter redecorate, and watching Sirius work on his bike or at the Menagerie. The prospect of a proper wage, albeit a modest one, lifts his spirits, and he doesn’t mind so much when Sirius insists on paying for everything, because he’ll have an income soon.

His optimism (which, in all honesty, is tinged with a hint of denial about quite how little the Language School is paying him) comes crashing to the ground when pay day finally rolls around. The little brown envelope he picks up from payroll is even slimmer than he’d predicted – ten pence short of his rent, to be precise. The payroll clerk, a pleasant young woman named Hazel, with a brown bob and a gap between her teeth, explains emergency tax codes and National Insurance numbers to Remus, and tells him that if he completes the form she gives him, he’ll get more next month.

Except Remus can’t wait until next month; his rent is due tomorrow and he’s supposed to be going out with Sirius tonight. He takes a moment to consider his options: if he gives in to Sirius’ nagging and moves in with him, he’ll not have to pay any rent and what little he’s got could just about tide him over. He could ask Sirius – or better yet, James – to lend him some cash until next month, when he should be able to pay them at least part of it back. Or he could go and ask Tony for a few hours work, make the money he needs without having to embarrass himself in front of his friends.

His feet are carrying him towards the brothel even as he mulls it over. He remembers how proud and delighted Sirius was when Remus told him he’d got the job, the way he told anyone who’d listen that Remus was a teacher now, and how he and James had teased Remus about going over to the other side. The prospect of admitting that he’s still as desperate as ever is more than Remus can take. He heaves a deep sigh, and pushes open the door to the brothel.

~*~

The first few times, Remus is full of good excuses. A short pay packet, some red bills, the heel on his boot falls off despite his best attempts at Mending Charms. It’s someone’s birthday, or James and Lily’s engagement, and his old broom’s dangerous to take on Order work.

Eventually, though, Remus accepts the truth: it’s easy money. He prefers the School, but the whorehouse pays better. Remus _likes_ having money he finds – he likes it very much. He expects a fight the first time he buys Sirius dinner, but Sirius just beams at him, overflowing with affectionate pride. The twinge of guilt Remus suffers at letting Sirius believe that he earnt the money through respectable means lasts only a moment, and it’s certainly better than hunger pains. He likes the freedom of being able to go out on a whim, not fretting about breaking things or staining his clothes, being able to pop into the newsagents for a paper and a bag of mints whenever he feels like it. He buys some decent furniture for his bedsit, and laughs off Sirius’ distinctly unsubtle hints about helping redecorate _his_ flat.

In time Remus grows steadily less ashamed and disgusted by the way he makes his money, eventually becoming only bored by the steady monotony of sex work, and occasionally even vaguely amused at its absurdities. Tony says that male prostitutes are a niche market, but there’s not many of them around, and Remus’ lack of a drug habit or any obvious diseases makes him an ideal employee. They can find him as many clients as Remus can be bothered to see, and he gets to set his own ground rules (no kissing, no cuddling, and Remus doesn’t take it up the arse).

He gives hand jobs to city workers who think they’re terribly daring paying for a quick one off the wrist in their lunch breaks, sucks off unwashed miscreants who’d never get anything for free, and blokes who are too lazy to hang around a club or Hampstead Heath for half-an-hour. He feels slightly sorry for the stuttering, closeted young men who don’t know where else to turn, almost tempted to reach out and offer advice and guidance, until he remembers that he’s not their bloody social worker and he’s certainly not their friend, and tells them that time’s running out and they’d best drop their trousers if they want to get their money’s worth.

Some only come in the once, when they’re drunk, or curious, afraid that they might die of virginity, or on a dare. Some come more regularly. The man Remus calls Uptight from Epping comes in for a blow-job every Tuesday afternoon, because he says he can’t give it up but he can’t ask his wife – she’s a lady, after all. Remus never says anything, but amuses himself by imagining the bloke’s horror if he ever pointed out that perhaps his wife wouldn’t mind a bit of oral pleasure herself.

Remus only ever sees two women; a drunk divorcee in her forties who says her friend bet her she wouldn’t, who looks Remus up and down like he’s in a specimen case, and then fucks him anyway, and a young women’s whose husband’s been shagging his secretary since she got pregnant three years ago. Remus tells her he can’t see any stretch marks and her old man’s an idiot – it’s well worth the tip.

And then there are the perverts. Mr Bunting (not his real name), who likes Remus to put an oversized nappy on him and sing nursery rhymes. The pain fetishists who bring their own whips and the role-players who make Remus glad he kept his old school uniform.

“Facial” earnt his nickname from the girls he usually visits, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out how. Apparently being pissed on gets old after a while, though, which is how he ends up in the back bedroom that Remus is using for the evening, explaining that he’ll kneel down and wank himself off while Remus comes in his face.

It’s hardly the most outlandish request Remus has ever received, though it is unusual. Sometimes his punters require him to get hard enough to fuck them, though that’s not common, and they’re never bothered about whether or not he finishes himself off. The notion that he’s got to enjoy it enough to come is faintly unsettling, but Facial pays well and never causes any bother, so Remus doesn’t object.

He feels faintly absurd sitting on the edge of the bed, flaccid cock in his hand and Facial kneeling before him, all red cheeks and rubbery lips, quivering with anticipation. Well, that’s not going to do it for him, so Remus closes his eyes and starts to stoke himself absently, letting his mind wander.

He’d be hard in an instant if he had Sirius like this, naked and on his knees, waiting. Remus’ cock twitches at the thought. He knows that Sirius would never, ever be caught dead in a place like this but, _ooh_ , what if he did? The prospect of having Sirius as a punter is undeniably, shamefully arousing, and Remus fists his cock harder and faster as he pictures it.

Would Sirius put on that collar he sometimes wears? Maybe he’d ask Remus to attach a leash to it as well – he’s never asked, but Remus suspects he’d like to. Remus’ breath hitches as he imagines everything that Sirius might ask for, what he might let Remus do to him. Except…

…it really would be better if he could make Sirius play the whore, wouldn’t it? A nagging voice at the back of Remus’ mind tells him it’s _wrong_ to think of Sirius like this, especially under these circumstances, but there’s no denying that he likes the idea very, very much.

He’d like to be the one buying Sirius, paying for his body, his time, and his obedience. He’d pull Sirius to his knees with a tug on his leash, order him to open his mouth to accept Remus’ cock. Or maybe he’d bind Sirius’ hands behind his back, make him sit and watch while Remus wanked in his face. Sirius would whimper and beg for release as Remus licked his own come off Sirius’ perfect, chiselled features, shivering and desperate and _oh!_

Remus comes with a muffled cry, biting his lip to keep from calling out Sirius’ name. When he opens his eyes Facial is panting and straining before him, his tomato-coloured face streaked with spunk and his tongue lolling out. Remus shifts his foot out of the way and tries not to grimace as Facial shoots his load onto the towel on the floor, sweating and grunting all the while.

Remus dresses in a hurry and gives Facial a flannel before leaving early. He’s not sure why he feels like he’s gone to far this time, and he doesn’t care to analyse it either.

~*~

It’s gone midnight when Remus turns up on Sirius’ doorstep, too restless to sleep and too tired to do anything else.

‘Hey, sexy,’ says Sirius as he opens the door and gives Remus a peck on the cheek.

‘Are you talking to me or the fur ball?’ asks Remus, indicating the fat, fluffy grey kneazle in Sirius’ arms.

‘Her name is Isis, as you know very well,’ Sirius tells him, scratching the beast between the ears as he speaks.

Remus does know very well: Isis was a Christmas present from the Potters the year Sirius left home, and Remus blames them for encouraging Sirius’ obsession with stray animals (well, that and the fact his parents would never have allowed it). This is bad enough in itself, besides from the fact that Remus has been forced into a running battle with the flea-ridden thing for Sirius’ affections for years. Isis seems to believe that as she got to share Sirius’ bed before Remus did, she has the prior claim and as such the right to scratch Remus’ ankles at will. Remus has tried explaining to her that he knew Sirius before she was born, but apparently kneazles aren’t that smart after all.

‘Is it?’ Remus feigns ignorance. ‘Can’t say I can tell the difference between one mangy moggy and another.’

‘Liar.’ Sirius grins. ‘You’re not half as jealous of any other animal.’

‘’M not jealous,’ says Remus. ‘She hates me.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ says Sirius, still looking annoyingly amused.

‘Hmph, well.’ Remus scowls. ‘Can we go to bed now? Without the beast?’

Sirius rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway. ‘I’ll be through when I’ve settled her down.’

Remus is just getting comfortable, curled up in a ball on Sirius’ bed when Sirius attacks him, crawling all over Remus and rolling him onto his back.

‘Well,’ says Sirius, pulling the blankets down to get better access to Remus’ neck, ‘this is a pleasant surprise.’

‘Padfoot,’ says Remus, wriggling away from Sirius’ attentions. ‘I didn’t come here for that.’

‘No?’ Sirius stops kissing Remus’ throat to look up at him. ‘Did you just want to cuddle?’

‘I hate you.’

‘Or maybe you were lonely and couldn’t sleep without me.’

‘Don’t start.’

‘Hm.’ Sirius rubs his nose under Remus’ ear. ‘Normally when I do things like this you beg me not to _stop_.’

‘Look, I’m tired, can’t you just leave me alone?’ Remus cringes a little, because he knows it’s only the guilt that’s making him so irritable. It’s not like he can tell Sirius that he’s already had sex half-a-dozen times today and the prospect of bringing anyone else off seems more like a burden than a pleasure.

‘Tired and uptight,’ says Sirius. He’s pulled back just a bit, the tips of his fingers tracing circles on Remus’ hip. ‘Why don’t you let me help you unwind, mm?

Remus sucks in a shaky breath; it’s an enticing offer, but he still doesn’t feel quite comfortable. ‘I’m really not up to doing anything for you,’ he says quietly.

‘That’s OK,’ Sirius tells him. ‘You can just lie there and let me satisfy this sudden urge I’ve got to suck your cock.’

Remus can’t argue with that, so he just exhales softly and wills himself to relax as Sirius sets to work unbuttoning his pyjamas. Sirius’ touch is gentle, loving, and he kisses each patch of freshly exposed skin as he undresses Remus.

It’s arousing and soothing at the same time; Remus can feel his muscles relax and his mind going fuzzy around the edges, while his cock gets hard as Sirius moves closer. It’s nice, pleasant to be the subject of Sirius’ tender ministrations. So much better, Remus thinks hazily, than anything he does at work. It’s always better with Sirius…

‘Padfoot.’ Remus lifts his head suddenly, to look at Sirius. ‘Wear the collar.’

Sirius grins, his twinkling in the near-darkness. ‘Kinky beggar,’ he says. ‘I thought you were too tired?’

‘Um, you don’t have to,’ Remus mutters. He’s uncomfortable again, instantly regretting the request and wondering what the hell he’s thinking of.

But Sirius is already hanging off the side off the mattress, rummaging in the bedside table. He re-emerges a moment later, with a triumphant smile on his face and a thin strip of leather dangling from his fingers.

‘Your wish is my command,’ he says. ‘Want to do it up for me?’

Remus’ fingers tremble as he wraps the narrow band of leather around Sirius’ throat. He fastens the catch tight, so that the collar fits neatly, but not too tight. There’s just room for Remus to slide his finger underneath, so that he can tug Sirius towards him.

‘Lovely,’ he says, licking his lips as his fingers caress the stiff black leather and with sharp metal studs. Another tug and Sirius is almost touching him, nose-to-nose, warm puffs of Sirius’ breath tickling Remus’ lips. ‘I should buy you a leash – might make it a bit easier to keep you under control.’

‘You pervert.’ Sirius lets out a shaky laugh, but his pupils are wide and inky-black, and his cheeks are flushed.

‘Shut up and suck me.’

Remus keeps his forefinger hooked around the collar, pulling Sirius down. He does it slowly, careful not to hurt Sirius, but insistent all the same. Sirius gets the message easily enough, scurrying down to comply with Remus’ command.

Sirius stops and hovers over Remus’ cock, his warm breath making Remus tingle. Remus arches his back and groans softly as Sirius’ lips part to accept his cock, wet and welcoming.

He’s babbling, muttering dirty words of encouragement as Sirius licks and sucks, his tongue dancing up and down the length of Remus’ prick, making Remus gasp and roll his hips, pushing deeper into Sirius’ throat. Sirius takes hold of his own cock when Remus tells him to, his movements becoming more erratic as he jerks himself off while still sucking Remus.

It feels fantastic; hot and thrilling, and Remus is elated by this power he has over Sirius, to move and angle him just as he pleases, by Sirius’ willingness to do whatever he asks. The vague sense of unease he has that there’s something not quite right about the whole thing isn’t enough to stop him pulling on Sirius’ collar, digging his hands through Sirius’ hair, and crying Sirius’ name as he comes in his mouth.

Remus feels happy-tired as he lies beside Sirius, stroking the red marks that the collar left on Sirius’ neck and smiling with sleepy contentment.

‘Thank you,’ he whispers.

‘Silly,’ says Sirius. ‘I love you.’

He draws Remus into his arms, letting Remus rest his head on his shoulder. Remus falls sleep with the gentle _thwump_ of Sirius’ heartbeat reverberating against his cheek, and Sirius fingers running through his hair.

 _Sirius loves me_ , he thinks as he drifts into unconsciousness. And maybe, that’s part of the problem.

~*~

Remus doesn’t usually show his face in the waiting room, which Tony calls the ‘parlour’ a name that seems mundanely euphemistic and excessively exotic all at once. Even back-street brothels have a certain pecking-order of propriety, and whilst the girls are expected to collect clients from the parlour, or else just hang around looking decorative, Remus apparently falls under the title of ‘special services’ and is kept discretely out of sight.

It’s just gone closing time, though, and he’s been pressed into locking up, so Remus decides to exit through the main door. Gary, his last punter, is still loitering, making Remus wonder if he should duck back upstairs until he pushes off. He’s not entirely happy that he even knows his name—he’s not here to socialise, after all—and would prefer not to be stopped for a chat.

Gary’s facing away from him, talking to someone that Remus can’t quite see.

‘Is that him?’

Remus stops in his tracks as Gary turns and looks at him, then nods. He doesn’t really hear Gary’s reply – some off-colour remark about Remus offering value for money – because his eyes are fixed on the man in front of him.

Sirius.

Sirius is here, in his seedy backstreet dump of a brothel, listening to one of Remus’ punters extolling his virtues as an inexpensive prostitute. Remus stands stock-still, frozen in horror, as Sirius pulls back his arm and throws the first punch.

The impact sends Gary reeling backwards, falling down, but Sirius is right after him, pulling him up and pinning him against the wall. Sirius is shouting, hurling abuse and invective; his face is red and contorted with fury, a terrifying force of loathing and anger.

‘What’s your problem?’ Gary pants as Sirius snarls in his face. Clearly he’s even more of an idiot than Remus had imagined.

‘You are.’

Sirius punches him again, clean and hard in the centre of his face, and all that Remus can hear is the horrible sound of breaking bones and crushed cartilage as Gary’s nose gets smashed in. His blood splatters against the wall, like spray carnations over woodchip, and more thick streams of it ooze from his mouth and nostrils.

Remus’ mouth opens and closes in a silent ‘no’ of protest, but he seems to have lost the ability to speak. It’s like being underwater, unreal and immediate all at once, and he’s hopeless, powerless to speak or act.

‘You touch him again, and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear?’ Sirius screams in Gary’s face, and then throws him towards the door.

Gary tumbles to the ground; his body limp as old rags as his legs splay uselessly across the floor. He’s spitting up blood with a hacking, wet cough as the fluid gargles in his throat, making his entire body shake. When he coughing subsides he wipes the crimson fluid from his chin with an unsteady hand, and turns to look at Sirius over his shoulder.

‘I ought to have the police on you,’ he manages at last. It’s a pathetic, feeble threat from a beaten man on his knees.

‘Yeah?’ Sirius’ sneers, all the contempt of his ancestors’ writ large across his face. ‘Maybe I ought to call your _wife_.’

Gary’s left hand is chubby and calloused, the thick gold wedding band now sticky with blood. He stares at it for a moment, then back at Sirius, but doesn’t reply. Still shaking, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles out of the door while he still can.

There’s no sound in the room once the door bangs shut, just an eerie, unnatural quiet that makes the blood rushing through Remus’ ears seem as loud as drums. Sirius stands still at last, facing away from Remus. His back’s rigid, giving no sign of emotion, but even from this angle Remus can tell he’s breathing heavily.

At last, he manages to move, to speak. He takes a step forward, then another, his heart beating a fierce tattoo all the while until he reaches Sirius, and places a hesitant hand on his arm, fingertips just barely making contact with the crook of Sirius’ elbow.

‘Sirius…’

Sirius twists, pulling his arm away as he turns to face Remus.

‘Come to settle up, Moony?’ he asks, his lips twisted into a caustic sneer. ‘Only I’m not sure I’ve enough cash on me at the moment.’

‘Sirius, please…’

‘Do you have a price list or something?’ Sirius moves around the room, glancing here and there with affected casualness, like he’s looking for a bus timetable. ‘That geezer said you were cheap and all, but still, it’s been three years, these things add up – ’

‘Sirius!’

‘What?’ Sirius rounds on him, the anger welling up again. ‘What do you want me to say, Remus? That I can understand why you were too proud to accept money from me, but you’ll bend over and take it from any two-bit pervert with a bit of cash to spare? That it’s OK for you to cheat on me if it’s all in a day’s work?’

He stops and looks up at the ceiling, running his fingers through his air.

‘Because I can’t,’ he continues. ‘I don’t understand and it’s not OK.’

Remus winces, screws his eyes up tight. He’s losing Sirius, can feel him slipping away from him, and he can’t think of a thing to stop it happening.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.

Sirius takes a step towards him.

‘So am I,’ he says, quiet now. His voice sounds hoarse and his eyes are bright, luminous under the electric light, and red-rimmed. ‘I loved you.’

‘Sorry,’ Remus says again; pitiful, pathetic.

Sirius doesn’t look back as he walks out of the door.

 

~*~

Remus spends the next few days walking around in a stupor, shocked into numbness. He doesn’t return to the brothel – he daren’t show his face after that night and besides, it offers him some comfort to blame that place for costing him Sirius, for all he knows it’s his own fault really. He manages to pick up a few extra shifts at the English Language School, earning him enough – just – to make ends meet without scrounging or selling himself.

He can’t decide if the Fates are taking pity on him, or just have a really cruel sense of humour.

Left to his own devices, he’d probably wallow in his own self-pity and self-loathing alone indefinitely, but the screech of a familiar owl at his windowpane and a scrawled note ( _six o’clock, you know where_ ) tell him he’s not be allowed that luxury.

James stares at him with a mixture of irritation and repulsed fascination, and Remus finds himself glad that they’re having this meeting in public, where James couldn’t hex him if he wanted to. They’re in a Muggle pub, one of a handful of quiet boozers they’d all started going to when the Leaky stopped feeling safe.

‘So, how are you?’ James asks. The stiff formality of his tone makes Remus’ stomach twist.

‘OK.’ It’s a patent lie, of course, but what else can he say? _I feel like shit, like the bottom’s just fallen out of my life and, really, I’m completely miserable, actually_. It’s not like he can expect sympathy from James.

‘Right.’ James nods, and takes another sip of his drink.

It’s excruciating.

‘Have you…have you seen Sirius?’

‘Yeah, he’s staying with me and Lily. You know how he hates living on his own.’

Remus didn’t know, actually, and he wonders what else he missed. He’ll save worrying about that for later. ‘How is he?’

James shoots him a contemptuous glare, and looks like he’s fighting back the urge to give Remus a piece of his mind, complete with loud accusations and the wrong end of his wand, Muggles or no. He sighs, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand before he speaks.

‘Not good,’ he says at last. ‘He’s pretty cut up about the whole thing. I haven’t seen him like this since…well, not since he left home.’

Remus stares miserably at the table, fiddling with a beer mat. ‘I never meant…you know I’d never hurt Sirius on purpose.’

‘No?’ James scowls. ‘Well, I hope you never do decide you want to get at him, if this is how well you do without even trying.’

There’s a long silence, and Remus wonders if it would really make things worse if he just got up and walked out now.

‘Sorry,’ James says, shaking his head. ‘It’s just…Fuck, Moony, how could you do this to Sirius?’

Remus’ voice is so quiet he’s barely audible. ‘I needed the money.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Maybe I should just go.’ Remus puts his drink down and pushes his chair back. What’s the point, really?

He’s nearly at the door when James catches up with him, a warm hand on his shoulder that Remus has to remind himself not to push off.

‘Look, you know there’s a meeting tomorrow night? Well, Sirius doesn’t feel up to it so him and Lily are crying off to do some messing about with potions or other, and Dumbledore doesn’t like people arriving alone…So, do you want me to meet you at yours before?’

A week ago it would have been a throwaway question, and James wouldn’t have been trying so desperately to arrange his face into an expression of respectful indifference. Remus tries to swallow the disappointment that something so mundane suddenly _is_ a big deal, and nods dumbly.

‘Good,’ says James. ‘I’ll pick Peter up on the way.’

The slap on the back that James gives him is a little too hearty, his smile a little false, but Remus supposes he can’t exactly complain under the circumstances.

~*~

‘We’re worried about you too.’

The expression on Lily’s face is a little more concerned, a little less disgusted than James’, but she doesn’t really hide her distaste that much better than he did. Remus wonders if they’ve planned this; some sort of ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ routine like in the police dramas his auntie used to let him watch when he was younger.

‘You know, you can always ask for help,’ she continues. ‘I can sort of understand why you didn’t want to ask Sirius, but surely you could have come to me and James?’

‘Lily…’

‘I just don’t know how you could do this to yourself,’ she finishes sadly.

‘Can we talk about something else?’ Remus asks. ‘Only, this is kind of uncomfortable, you know.’

Lily agrees with an embarrassed smile, but of course there _is_ nothing else they’ve got to talk about really, and Remus finds he lacks the patience or the inclination to make small talk about the weather or who’s died recently. So he might as well throw caution to the wind.

‘Can I see him?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to talk to Sirius.’

Lily shakes her head. ‘Not yet.’

‘Well, could you _ask_ him if he’ll speak to me?’

Lily looks apologetic, but resolute. ‘He’s just not ready yet.’

‘Right.’ 

Remus bristles with annoyance. He’s had long enough to get used to coming a poor second to James, but since when did Lily become Sirius’ keeper? Since she had a clear out her spare room and baby-sit every time Sirius spends five minutes away from James, he thinks unpleasantly.

The irritation is enough to drive him into actually doing something.

~*~

‘What do you want?’

Sirius’ tone is about as welcoming as Remus’ expected it to be, but he doesn’t allow himself to be deterred. He’s had to use too many cloak-and-dagger techniques to find the one time Lily and James leave Sirius on his own to let his opportunity slip by without a fight.

‘Can I come in?’

Sirius shrugs and turns away, walking off down the hall and leaving the door open behind him. It’s as much of an invitation as Remus is ever likely to get, so he brushes off Sirius’ lack of enthusiasm and follows him into the sitting room.

‘Well?’

Sirius stands with his arms folded over his chest, closed-off and cold, but the anger that looked fit to consume him the last time Remus saw him seems to have faded. Sirius looks tired, more dejected than furious. To his shame, Remus finds the fact that Sirius seems so miserable an encouraging sign.

‘I just wanted to see you,’ he says, keeping his tone deliberately soft as he steps towards Sirius. ‘To tell you how sorry I am.’

‘Sorry, right.’ Sirius’ expression is stony, and he backs away as Remus approaches him, until eventually he hits the wall.

Remus keeps moving, until he’s right in front of Sirius, their faces barely inches apart. He’s not sure he’ll ever find the words to convince Sirius to forgive him, but he knows how to touch Sirius, how to get close to him, knows that Sirius needs to be held and petted and loved in ways he’ll never admit, but that Remus can give him.

‘Let me make it up to you,’ Remus says, and then presses his lips to Sirius’.

Sirius doesn’t push him away, but he doesn’t welcome the kiss either. He just stands there, unmoving and unresponsive, with his arms still folded in front of him. Remus strokes the tips of Sirius’ hair, behind his ear, and runs his fingers down Sirius’ forearms, all the time pressing soft, firm kisses to his mouth.

Remus can feel Sirius reacting despite himself – the way Sirius’ breathing hitches just a little, and how he squirms ever so slightly under Remus’ touch. Even with his eyes closed Remus knows that Sirius’ cheeks will be glowing pinkish, and that his eyelashes would have fluttered shut the moment Remus kissed him.

Emboldened by the fact that Sirius has yet to punch or hex him, Remus lets his hand move lower, skimming below the waistband of Sirius’ jeans. Sirius twitches and pulls away slightly as Remus’ palm cups his erection through the denim, but not far enough for Remus to see any reason to stop. He gives Sirius’ ear a nip with his teeth before pulling back to unfasten his zipper.

‘Please don’t.’ Sirius shakes his head and looks away.

‘Hush,’ Remus soothes, pressing one final peck to Sirius’ cheek before dropping to his knees. ‘You’ll like it.’

Sirius doesn’t answer, just stares resolutely to the side, hands now balled into fists by his sides.

Remus decides he’s all the permission he needs – or is likely to get – and takes hold of Sirius’ cock, then slowly sucks it into his mouth.

It’s harder than Remus predicted to convey affection with a blow-job. He laps at Sirius’ cock with long, indulgent swipes of his tongue, slow and languorous. His knuckles brush over the sparse hair on Sirius’ abdomen, because he knows that Sirius loves the almost-tickly sensation. He can hear Sirius’ breathing grow uneven and murmurs contently around his cock, savouring the taste, the texture and the sound of Sirius coming apart beneath his fingers and his mouth.

Sirius tries to pull away as he comes, but Remus just sucks harder, his fingers digging into Sirius’ thighs. Remus drinks it all down, licking his lips in quiet satisfaction as the last drop of Sirius’ spunk slides down his throat. He presses a kiss to Sirius’ hip and looks up at him, smiling.

Sirius isn’t smiling; his face is scrunched up, as though he’s in pain, and he still won’t look at Remus directly.

‘Padfoot?’ Remus stands, concerned, reaching out to touch Sirius’ shoulder but Sirius twists and pulls away from him.

It takes Sirius a long time to answer.

‘Fine,’ he says at last, ‘you’ve made your point. You can go now.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Sirius’ laugh is hollow and his eyes are damp. ‘I’m not any better than any of your…clients. I get it.’

Remus just stares at him, slack jawed as Sirius turns to walk away.

‘Just leave me alone,’ he calls as he shuts the living room door behind him.

Remus can hear Sirius’ footsteps pounding up the stairs and knows its time to let it go.

~*~

Remus goes to work, does his part in various Order duties, and meets up with Peter or the Prewett brothers or, less often, James for a drink of an evening. He goes to roughly half the Order’s meetings, which coincide with the half that Sirius doesn’t attend.

Weeks pass, and then months, and Remus thinks he’s getting used to it. He misses Sirius at curious moments – when the creak of the plumbing gets so loud that it wakes him in the middle of the night, and Sirius isn’t there to swear in three different languages and then whinge until Remus agrees to go back to Sirius’ flat after all. He turns instinctively when he hears the roar of a motorcycle in the street and lets the raspberry jam grow mouldy before throwing it out. He can’t stand the sound of dogs barking or the smell of leather.

But mostly, he just concentrates on bearing his surfeit of independence with stoical resignation. It’s what he’s good at, after all.

And so, since he’s being so sensible about the whole thing, he can hardly object when James sits him down and asks him to find a way of getting through his stag party – with Sirius very much in attendance – without incident. James’ expression is earnest, hopeful, when they talk, and it may well be the first time James has ever asked anything of him. Remus pastes a smile on his face and promises it won’t be a problem.

They have the party in what’s usually a quiet little country pub in Shropshire, The Green Dragon, which James has acquired the exclusive use of for the evening by the efforts of various friends of friends and the exchange of an undisclosed quantity of galleons.

An even greater sum of money has been spent on the free bar, which dispenses mead, firewhisky, crab apple cider, bekerovka, and at least two dozens beers. There’s a decent crowd of people, nearly all of whom Remus recognises, and it’s not too hard to make polite conversation with familiar faces from school and James’ third-cousin-by-marriage. James hasn’t actually shown his face yet, but Remus can feel himself starting to relax someway into his third glass of cider. Perhaps the evening won’t be totally unbearable after all.

He changes his mind the moment James arrives. Sirius is with him, propping James up as he stumbles over the threshold because James is already very drunk. Too drunk to notice the way Sirius freezes the moment he lays eyes on Remus, or the fact that Remus is already politely stepping away, hoping to lose himself somewhere towards the back of the bar.

‘Moony!’ James’ face is lit up with drunken enthusiasm, and he flings his arms out wide as he approaches Remus.

‘Hey, Prongs.’ Remus smiles and pats James’ back as his friend tries to crush his ribs with a bear-hug. Despite his embarrassment, he finds there’s something infectious about James’ utter, ridiculous happiness, and the growing quantities of alcohol swilling about his system are urging him to enjoy himself.

He lets James drag him to a nearby table, and accepts a bottle of cloudy brown ale from Peter. Enough well-wishers flock around them to keep Remus a safe distance from Sirius, and he joins in the mocking comments about balls and chains with a passable amount of good cheer.

It’s not going too badly; the whole thing might just about have passed off without incident, but there’s always someone who has to go an open their mouth when it’s least wanted isn’t there?

Daniel Hastings was in the year above them at school, a Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He has all the tact and sensitivity that one associates with the position, and has just given up leering at the barmaid to offer James his congratulations. He turns his chair back-to-front and straddles it, pressing a bottle of something that might not be quite legal into James’ hand before swigging on his own mug of cider.

‘Not a bad do,’ says Daniel, nodding approvingly at the wide selection of alcohol on the table, ‘but a bit lacking in entertainment.’

‘Whaddya mean?’ James slurs over his pint.

‘C’mon, it’s a stag do!’ Daniel spreads his arms out wide as he speaks, almost smacking Peter in the face. ‘Where’s the strippers?’

James mumbles something into his drink, but the only word Remus can make out is “Lily”.

‘I hold you responsible for this,’ Daniel continues, turning to Sirius. ‘You’re best man; you should be giving him a decent send-off.’

Sirius’ glare is cold enough to freeze fire, but Daniel’s apparently too drunk to notice. He leans over and pokes Sirius with his elbow, a conspiratorial grin on his face.

‘Or are you planning a little private entertainment for the groom?’ he asks. ‘Got some ladies lined up for after-hours, give him a last chance to sow his oats.’

‘No.’ Sirius’ tone is laden with the polite disdain he saves for people he finds particularly below him. ‘If you’re in need of a prostitute, perhaps you should speak to Remus.’

A sudden stillness falls over the table, with everyone but Daniel holding their breath. Remus’ mouth goes dry.

‘Remus?’ Daniel blinks as he turns to face him. ‘Do you know any call girls?’

Remus sinks into his seat and shakes his head.

‘No?’ says Sirius. ‘Did you not socialise with your colleagues? Or perhaps they had the girls on different nights – I’m afraid I don’t know as much as you about how these things work.’

Daniel glances between the two of them stupidly, obviously thoroughly confused by the conversation. Remus is seriously wondering if he could Disapparate without getting up off his seat when Peter takes pity on him.

‘Dan, I think that barmaid was giving you the eye,’ he says, indicating the harassed-looking woman behind the bar who actually looks like she’s listing hexes in her head and thinking she doesn’t get paid enough for this. ‘Let’s go and get some more drinks, have a chat with her.’

Daniel allows himself to be led away without a fuss, and Remus thinks he could kiss Peter, until he realises that Sirius is still shooting daggers at him and he’s not out of the woods yet.

‘Perhaps I should call it a night,’ he begins, making to stand up.

‘No, s’early!’ James insists, pulling Remus back down into his seat. ‘Have another drink, an’ you, Padfoot, s’fine.’

Remus sinks back down, accepting the bottle that James shoves towards him. Alcohol, that’s the only thing that can save him now. Lots and lots of alcohol. He swallows half the bottle in one go.

‘Yeah, you should stick around,’ says Sirius. ‘Lots of drunk and desperate men around here; you might pick up a bit of business later.’

‘Not now, Sirius,’ Remus mumbles, still not able to look him in the eye.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, am I embarrassing you?’ Sirius asks loudly.

‘Padfoot…’ James shakes his head, then falls face-first into a puddle of beer on the table, fast asleep.

‘Can you keep your voice down?’ hisses Remus.

‘I thought I should shout a little louder, actually,’ says Sirius, doing exactly that. ‘For your own good, you know – advertising. Never get anywhere hiding your red light under a bushel.’

‘Shut up!’

‘Don’t tell me to shut up!’ Sirius is on his feet, attracting the attention of several other party-goers. ‘You lost the right to tell me what to do a long time ago.’

‘Which also means I lost the obligation to put up with you acting like a twat in public,’ Remus retorts angrily, also standing up. He downs the last of his drink and turns to leave.

‘Don’t you fucking walk away from me,’ says Sirius, climbing over a chair to follow him.

‘We are _not_ having this conversation here.’

‘Fine!’

Sirius grabs hold of Remus’ arm, and before Remus can shake him off he feels the familiar squeeze of Apparition, and finds himself standing in Sirius’ living room a moment later.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ he demands, pulling himself out of Sirius’ grasp. ‘You can’t just pull me around like that.’

‘I think you’ll find I just did,’ says Sirius, smirking nastily.

‘Well you’re not _allowed to_ ,’ says Remus. ‘You dumped me, remember? So you don’t get to order me about anymore.’

‘I order you about?’ says Sirius, disbelieving.

‘Wanting to know where I was all the time, trying to stop me talking to anyone you don’t like, hassling me to move in so you could keep an eye on me – ’

‘ – not encouraging your career as a rent boy,’ Sirius finishes for him. ‘No wonder you decided you’d rather fuck anything that moves than stay with me, what with me being so terribly controlling and all.’

‘I don’t fuck anything that moves.’

‘No, only the ones that pay you enough, right?’

Remus clenches and unclenches his fists, breathing heavily. 

‘I don’t do that anymore,’ he says.

‘Well, you won’t be going back to your old boss anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

Sirius smiles; a slow, dark smile, that makes Remus remember why so many people are scared of him.

‘He won’t remember you,’ he says. ‘Doesn’t remember his old whore-house either. I doubt he remembers much beyond his own name.’

Remus’ heart thumps heavily in his chest. ‘Did you hurt him?’

Sirius shrugs. ‘He’ll live.’

‘Sirius, you can’t do this.’ Remus throws up his arms in exasperation. ‘You can’t just turn your wand or your fists on anyone who does something you don’t like.’

‘When some grubby little bastard puts my boyfriend on the game I can,’ says Sirius. ‘I went back to that place you know – lets just say you weren’t exactly the baby of the office, and no-one looked too happy to be there. Fucking dirty bastard deserved everything he got.’

‘Who died and put you in charge of moral law enforcement?’

‘Well, one of us had to have some sense of decency.’

‘Don’t give me that puritanical shit,’ sneers Remus. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Not liking my boyfriend whoring his way around half of London doesn’t make me puritanical,’ says Sirius. ‘Unless anyone who doesn’t drop their pants for a handful of sickles is uptight now.’

‘Do you have any idea what kind of a judgemental bastard you sound like?’ seethes Remus. ‘I didn’t exactly do it for fun you know.’

‘So what did you cheat on me for?’

‘Money.’ Remus grits his teeth and talks with a tone of forced calm. ‘I needed money and it was an easy way to get it. We’re not all born with silver spoons in our mouths you know. Life’s a bit fucking harder when you don’t have a fat inheritance to sponge off.’

‘Oh, spare me the poor little pauper routine,’ snarls Sirius. ‘You know very well I’d have given you anything you wanted.’

‘Is that what really gets you?’ says Remus. ‘Not me being a whore, but the fact that I wasn’t _your_ whore?’

‘Don’t you fucking _dare_ compare me to your filthy customers,’ shouts Sirius. He takes a step towards Remus, then another, forcing Remus back towards the wall. ‘I tried to help you because I love you and I didn’t want to see you go without, not because I expected you to suck my cock for it.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t want your money!’

‘Why?’ Sirius’ voice is loud, demanding, but he looks stricken. ‘Why would you rather fuck some stranger than let me help you?’

‘Because I didn’t care what they thought of me.’ Remus only knows it as the words leave his mouth, and the revelation leaves him reeling. He takes a few deep breathes before continuing. ‘It was anonymous and cold and I didn’t think anything of any of them. I just gave them what they wanted, took their money, and left it at that. It didn’t…it didn’t _mean_ anything.’

‘And you had sex with dozens of other people while you were sleeping with me,’ Sirius says flatly. ‘Was I really that boring?’

‘I didn’t…I never…’ Remus stumbles over his words, quiet and uncertain. Sirius looks more unhappy than angry now. He reaches out and places his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. ‘It wasn’t like being with you, never like that. _Fuck_ , Sirius, as if anyone else could compare to you.’

He’s not sure if he starts it or Sirius does, but moments later he’s kissing Sirius, hard and fast and deep. Sirius has him pressed up hard against the wall, and his hands are everywhere, stroking and grasping and touching Remus in quick, greedy movements.

Remus pushes back, hands pressed tight to Sirius’ shoulder and hip, manoeuvring him around and walking him towards the bedroom. It’s a familiar journey, and even though he’s woozy with alcohol and with lust, Remus manages to walk Sirius backwards through two doorways, across the hall and onto the bed without opening his eyes or ever letting his lips break contact with Sirius’.

Isis the kneazle is sleeping on the pillow and hisses at the unwanted disturbance. For once Sirius just shoves her out of the way and pulls Remus back towards him, kissing him over and over again as his hands grapple with Remus’ clothing.

It’s a messy, frantic rush to get undressed; a foggy voice at the back of Remus’ head curses the fact that clothes are such inconvenient things. He can’t bring himself to care about the popped buttons or ripped fabric, or the fact that Sirius accidentally scratches him in his hurry; not when there are new bits of Sirius-skin being uncovered every second for him to touch, and kiss, and taste.

Remus feels strangely triumphant when he finally holds Sirius naked in his arms, all warm flesh and supple, eager flexing of limbs. Sirius’ cock is hot and hard, sticky against his belly, and he can feel his own prick straining in return.

He’d like to lick Sirius all over, to suck his cock until he screams, to fuck him right through the mattress. But he’s still very drunk and far too eager, so he just grasps Sirius’ cock, savouring the heat of it against his palm before sliding it against his own.

Sirius groans into Remus’ mouth, catching Remus’ lip between his teeth as they rut together. Sirius’ hands cup Remus arse, his fingernails leaving sharp little nips on sensitive skin as he pulls Remus towards him, over and over again.

They don’t speak until Sirius lets out a muffled whimper – ‘ _Moony_ ’ – as he comes, convulsing in Remus’ arms. He wraps his fingers around Remus’ cock, slick with his own spunk, and tugs in firm, uneven movements until Remus shoots his release, a ragged grunt of completion wrenched from his throat.

Remus lies flat on his back, panting heavily. His head is spinning and he’s so tired, all his limbs gone floppy and useless. The last thing he notices before he slips in a stupor are the warmth of Sirius’ cheek on his chest and the damp prickle of Sirius’ hair against his skin.

~*~

The wedding party is a lively affair, with a moderate crowd of people, all fiercely determined to enjoy themselves. Remus mills about the extravagantly decorated Church Hall, making polite conversation with various friends-and-relations. He smiles fondly at James, who spends the entire event with the daftest grin on his face, still looking like he can’t quite believe his luck and Lily, who blushes more in one afternoon than she has in all the years Remus has known her.

Peter’s making good progress with one of the bridesmaids, Lily’s old school friend Heliotrope, and McGonagall and Dumbledore raise a small round of applause when they are the first couple to join the newlyweds on the dancefloor. The minor explosion at the back of the hall turns out to be the work of the Prewett brothers, but even Moody can’t bring himself to be properly annoyed at them.

‘Hey.’

Remus turns to see Sirius standing behind him, a gentle smile on his face.

‘Hey,’ he replies. Remus had awoken that morning to find himself alone, but the odd, knowing glances that Sirius had thrown in his direction shored up his hopes that Sirius’ disappearance had been due to his need to make sure James hadn’t drowned in the puddle of beer they’d left him in the previous night, rather than horror at waking to find Remus in his bed.

‘You having a good time, Moony?’

‘Yes,’ says Remus. ‘But I could be persuaded to leave early.’

Sirius bites his lip, looking thoughtful. ‘I have to stay for a bit – best man duties and all that. Still got to make my speech – Lily insisted on some last minute edits.’

‘Did she have a complaint about the rude and embarrassing stories you had about Prongs?’

‘Yes,’ says Sirius, ‘she reckoned there weren’t nearly enough. In fact, she even had a few suggestions. Top girl that one – Prongs wants to count himself lucky I’m all about the cock.’

‘Is Prongs the only one who should be glad about that?’ Remus lifts an eyebrow and tries not to look too hopeful.

‘Maybe,’ says Sirius. ‘Look, I’ve still got to make nice with everyone’s maiden aunt and have another thousand photos taken before I get to humiliate Prongs in front of his nearest and dearest. I could meet you back at my place around twelve?’

Remus nods his agreement, and Sirius disappears into the crowd. It’s possible, he thinks, that he could at least manage a close second to James on the dopiest grins front when Sirius turns back and winks at him. Remus looks away, willing his stomach to stop doing that: really, he’s far too old to get butterflies in his tummy.

~*~

Remus tumbles out of the Floo a little after midnight, narrowly avoiding the family of fire crabs that have taken up residence in Sirius’ hearth. He looks up to see Sirius sitting on the sofa, teasing Isis with an old shoelace. Sirius has changed out of the expensive dress robes he wore for the wedding into jeans and a t-shirt with, Remus can hardly fail to notice, the collar peeking out about the neckline. He hopes he doesn’t stare at it too obviously, though the way Sirius’ lips twitch suggests he couldn’t be less subtle.

‘Hi,’ says Sirius, standing up to walk towards him.

‘Hi.’ Remus takes a step forwards and plants a tentative kiss at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. The moment he touches Sirius, Isis hisses loudly, and turns to stalk into the kitchen, her big, bushy tail raised pointedly into the air.

‘Told you she hates me,’ says Remus. ‘Blasted kneazle.’

‘They really do make very good pets,’ insists Sirius loyally.

Remus grins. ‘I prefer dogs.’

It’s an old joke, but Sirius laughs anyway. ‘Do you want to keep me as your pet, Moony?’

‘Not exactly.’ Remus smiles; it feels like an eternity since Sirius looked at him with such warmth, instead of anger or disappointment. The temptation to reach out and kiss him until they both forget about the misery of the past few months is almost overwhelming, but he forces himself to hold back. Following the path of least resistance hasn’t exactly worked out for him lately, and after everything that’s happened, the least he can do is level with Sirius.

‘Can we talk?’ he asks, hating the fact that there’s no way he can ask without sounding like the most terrible cliché. 

Sirius nods and leads Remus towards the sofa, before sitting down and looking at Remus expectantly. Oh, this isn’t going to be easy.

‘I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,’ Remus begins, struggling to maintain an even tone and keep from stumbling over the words. ‘I did an awful thing…I did lots of awful things. I…I never meant to hurt you.’

Sirius keeps his head ducked down low, nodding slightly. ‘I know,’ he says quietly.

‘I missed you.’ Remus takes a deep breath and forces himself to continue. ‘I think, maybe, I took you a bit for granted – I just never imagined that I wouldn’t have you around, and when you weren’t…I hated it.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ says Sirius. ‘So, do you want to get back together?’

‘Very much.’ Remus smiles: Sirius never did like to beat around the bush. He leans forward to kiss Sirius, glad that he’s got the sensible, grown-up bit out of the way and can now concentrate on making up for lost time with a lot of mind-blowing sex.

‘Just –’ Sirius stops him suddenly, pulling back. ‘Do you really think I’m controlling?’

‘No.’ Remus blinks, taken aback by the question and concerned by the troubled expression on Sirius’ face. ‘You just get a bit…carried away sometimes. Why?’

‘’Cause I need you to promise me,’ Sirius begins uncertainly. ‘I need to know that I’m the only one. That you won’t…’

‘I promise,’ says Remus. ‘I don’t want anyone else, Padfoot, I never did. And I promise I won’t go near anyone else as long as I’m with you.’

‘And you won’t lie to me again?’

Remus takes a deep breath. ‘I’ll try.’

‘OK.’ Sirius nods. ‘And I’ll try not to be so demanding.’

Remus leans towards him, brushing the hair back off Sirius’ face. ‘Can we get on with the making up now?’

‘Yeah.’ Sirius tilts his head to kiss Remus. ‘I want to forget all of this ever happened.’

‘Which works out well,’ Remus tells him, ‘because I plan to take you to bed and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to remember your own name.’

‘See, this is what I love about you, Moony,’ says Sirius, ‘always such genius plans.’

Remus just smiles and offers Sirius his hand to lead him to the bedroom. He lays Sirius back and kisses him slowly, with none of the anxious frenzy of the night before. Each touch lingers, unhurried, as Remus makes the most of the opportunity to reacquaint himself with Sirius’ body.

He pushes Sirius’ t-shirt up and over his head, kissing Sirius’ chest and stomach as he goes, making Sirius laugh and wriggle in not-quite-tickly glee. Sirius grabs hold of Remus’ shoulder and pulls him up close to kiss him deeply. Remus moans into the kiss, savouring the familiar, too-long-missed taste of Sirius’ tongue.

‘Best get these off,’ says Remus breathlessly, tugging at the waistband of Sirius’ jeans. ‘If I don’t get to fuck you soon, I might not be able to at all.’

He drags himself reluctantly off Sirius’ body, pulling his robe over his head as Sirius hurriedly tugs down his trousers.

‘Collar and no pants, Black? You were feeling awfully sure of yourself.’

‘Don’t fight it, Moony – we both know you want me bad.’

There’s no denying it, so Remus just climbs back on top of Sirius, running his fingers up and down his thighs, stroking his belly and cupping his bollocks. Sirius moans and rolls his hips, pressing the sticky-heat of his cock into Remus’ stomach.

Remus wants to take his time, drink in the sight of Sirius laid out naked, waiting for him, so eager and wanting. He’d like to draw out every one of those breathy little gasps of pleasure that Sirius makes each time Remus touches him, and revel in the scent of Sirius’ body, the taste of his skin, every movement of muscle under flesh.

He keeps his eyes locked on Sirius’ as he pushes slicked fingers inside of him, as slowly as Remus can bear. Sirius’ eyes go wide with desire, dark and glassy.

‘Is that what you want?’ says Remus as he moves his hand back and forth, fucking Sirius with his fingers.

‘Your cock,’ gasps Sirius. ‘Fuck, Moony, _now_.’

Remus can’t stand to tease him any longer, not while his cock aches for Sirius’ body. He can feel his arms and legs trembling with nervous over-excitement as he positions himself, pumped-up with adrenaline and lust. His eyes fall shut as he pushes into Sirius, a deep, shuddering sigh of satisfaction tumbling from his lips.

Sirius’ legs are wrapped tight around Remus’ waist, lean and powerful, every muscle and sinew flexing and relaxing as he draws Remus into him, pulling each thrust closer, deeper, harder. His eyes are wide, his gaze never leaving Remus’ face, and his lips parted, emitting soft little sobs of desire every time Remus pushes into him.

Beads of sweat form on Remus’ brow as he keeps fucking Sirius, the delicious agony of exertion making him hot and breathless. The slick heat of Sirius’ hole envelops his cock, sucking him in tight. He bites his lip and curls his fingers, glistening with lube, around the swollen length of Sirius’ erection, trembling as he pulls.

‘Now,’ he gasps, voice ragged. ‘Do it for me, Padfoot.’

‘Ah…’

Sirius whimpers when he comes, head thrown back in bliss. His cock twitches, sending a pale, pearlescent shower of spunk over Remus’ belly and his arse clenches, squeezing Remus’ cock. The sensation makes Remus buck harder, burying himself to the hilt in Sirius’ body as orgasm overtakes him and he comes deep inside Sirius, filling him up.

It takes Remus several long moments to get his breath back, heart beating a quick-step and his skin prickling with cooling sweat. Sirius holds him tenderly, stroking back the damp tendrils of hair that cling to Remus’ face and planting soft, soothing kisses to Remus’ mouth, his cheek, any part of Remus he can reach.

‘Stay,’ says Sirius.

‘Right here?’ Remus feigns an innocent smile. ‘Forever?’

‘Until you want to go,’ says Sirius. ‘I don’t want marriage or an Unbreakable Vow: I just want you here, with me, for as long as you’ll have me. And if you decide you don’t want me anymore…well, you don’t need my permission to leave.’

‘OK.’ Remus’ smile is genuine this time. ‘I’ll stay. For now.’

‘Good,’ says Sirius, and he kisses Remus on the cheek. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ says Remus as he relaxes into Sirius’ embrace.

And maybe, maybe it’s enough.


End file.
